Shards
by The EarthSong
Summary: This is my story. The story of the eldest of two sisters born of one birthing. This is the truth of Arthur and his Knights unknown by your historians. *Rated T for now and I have no idea where this will take us, only that it screams to be told.*
1. Chapter 1

**The Beginning**

I am going to tell you a story. It is a story which has long puzzled historians. At times they have gotten bits of it right--bits, mind you--but in the various tellings it has been twisted, distorted as a shattered mirror, each shard showing a small fragment of truth but unable to reflect the whole truth as it was before the mirror was broken. How, you might ask, do I, of all people, know the truth? Well, I know because I was there as an active participant as the drama unfolded. This is my story and it begins with the birth of two girls, twins as seemingly different as night and day.

I am Kellan, named for what my parents hoped I would one day become. I was the eldest born mere moments before my younger sister Guinevere.

We came clamoring into this world as most children do, a great source of joy and pride to our parents who were the leaders of our clan. Two of one birth and both strong and hale was in that time a true miracle. In those early months we looked the twins we were but as time marched on we grew differently.

Guinevere grew tall and willowy, the image of our mother, small breasted and pale of skin, though her hair and eyes were the deepest brown of fresh earth. How I envied her slender frame and earth coloring. She appeared a ghost gliding as a whisper of wind through the trees of our forest home.

I, on the other hand, was heavier than she, which drew many embarrassing stares as I grew. I was taller but not by much. My eyes never truly lost the color usual to infants instead they darkened slightly to the buffed blue-grey of shale stone. My skin browned in the sun and my hair was yellow as wheat. Because of these intense tones it was hard for me to move unseen in the shadows. My hair always caught the sun and threw it back, glimmering brightly in the dimmest of days.

I was told with my unusual coloring that I was a throw-back to my great-great grandmother. She was said to have lived and fought with the spirit of a great warrior, another favorable sign that the gods had smiled on my birth.

My sister and I grew as normal and happy as any children in our age until our fifth birthday when we were taken from our parents to be groomed for our future destinies.

I'll not bore you with the monotonous details of the years of our tutelage, but will say only that with the blood that flowed through our veins it was impossible for us not to thrive on the life we were taught. Even so, I maintained a love for the beauty of my forest home and a respect for life that Guinevere did not. She was especially competitive and she strove, not only to beat me in every task we were put to, but to utterly crush and dominate me. It was a good thing on more then one occasion that I was bigger than her and destined as the eldest to be the next leader.

All went according to everyone's plans until after our first battle. Now, as I have said, I am the offspring of generations of warriors. Their blood flows through me. My grandmother was one of the greatest our clan had known. I lived for my training. I loved the freedom of movement and the dancing grace that came with the strength and knowledge I had gained over the years, but I had yet to be tried and when word came that that time was now I rejoiced.

Guinevere and I prepared diligently for that first battle and it began well enough. As I fought, everything fell away and faded to the background. My vision became narrow and red and the joy that filled me as I overcame my enemies was palpable. In short, I lost myself to the violence. They said later, with pride thickening their voices, that I fought like one possessed -- my grandmother's image. I remembered none of it, but the fierce joy.

When I came to myself and surveyed with astonishment the destruction I had wrought, I knew that I could never again take up my sword. As I saw the lifeless eyes of the men I had killed, smelled their blood fresh in the air, my mouth watered and my soul hungered for more. I knew that to follow the path I was on would be cataclysmic. There would come a day when I would be unable to stop and neither friend nor foe would be recognized. In my blind state of euphoria, I would kill those I loved.

When my decision became known and later proven I saw the disappointment and betrayal my parents' eyes and the gloating fervor in my sister's. Could they ever understand that it was for their wellbeing, I put away my sword? It was for them I refused to be what they most wanted me to be.

As punishment for my obstinate refusal, I was sent to the Roman fort to 'spy' and my sister received what she had always desired -- my destiny.

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I lived with an aunt at the fort and was soon installed, by what means I did not know, as a servant in the barracks of the Roman commander and his Sarmatian knights. Though I worked hard enough to fall into my bed at night and instantly fall into a numbed sleep, my hands ached for the solid feel of an oaken staff; my ears could hear the whirl of it through the air and the satisfying thwack of it when it came into contact with another. I longed for the sting of the string on my fingers as an arrow was loosed and flew straight and true from my bow. I hungered to feel the weight of my blade on my back even as I dreamed of the peace and freedom of the forest, the great quiet and solitude where one could sit and hear their heart beating in time to the earth.

As time slowly wore on, I locked that part of me behind thicker and thicker doors. I worked at becoming invisible to all -- a non-entity. It was easy for in those days few saw their servants. I came to believe that I had achieved my goal for I could move about with ease and listen to conversations as if I was not present. I hated it. Part of that I will admit was that for most of my life I had been respected and admired. I will not say that I was the center of attention, but being who I was, I was not far from it. I learned nothing and came to realize with disgust that nothing would be said in the presence of a mere female servant.

So once again, even at this simple task I failed. I despaired. I lost my sharpness. I forgot about the one other person who worked even harder than I to live a shadow life -- the scout. I remembered trailing him through the forest, always one step behind, a dangerous game to be sure, but an exhilarating one. Now, I tried to steer clear of his piercing gaze, to appear humble when in all actuality I thirsted for his blood and welcomed a chance to pit myself against this most notorious of men. But it was not to be.

One oppressive day in late summer, when the weather had been uncommonly hot and sticky, I went from one room to another, changing linens and grousing to myself over how untidy the Sarmatians were. To my annoyance several had congregated in the room I was in making it all the hotter for their bodies. I ground my teeth together to keep from saying something that I might regret. They were oblivious and took little to no notice of the woman moving about as she completed her responsibilities.

Their conversation was nothing of great importance, so I began to pay it little mind. It was stifling in the room and I could feel sweat beading at my neck and running in little rivulets down between my breasts and shoulder blades. In my discomfort I made a mistake. It was simple and of seeming little consequence. I flicked my hair from my face and drew it over one shoulder to allow my neck to cool. The sudden unexpected movement caught the eye of the scout and his full attention fell directly on me for the first time since I had been caused to come to the fort. As I felt his gaze, I glanced up. His dark eyes gave nothing away, but I was surprised his fellows could feel nothing of his sudden attentiveness and I was suddenly chilled. I realized just how proud I had been to even think I had any hope of killing this man. His eyes held the darkness of death within them.

I looked down and away as a frightened girl would and swallowed the urge to fidget under that penetrating stare. Doing my best to appear merely scared and not terrified, I finished my task and left the room knowing that not once had the man taken his eyes from me and wondering what had caught his attention so fully.

Where had I stepped wrong?

**Tristan**

I followed the golden-haired girl all that day and through the next week. I found her name was Kellan, a peculiar name I had not heard previously. It seemed she strived to remain unnoticed, something I felt sure she was good at because once she had drawn my eye, I was hard pressed to look away.

She was lovely and strong in a way that I knew only from Sarmatian women, though she was fairer with eyes the color of the wild storm-tossed sea I remembered from our ride over. Her hair fell like warm honey over her shoulders and down her back to her hips. Her flawless skin was the color sun kissed gold, her cheeks and lips a tempting pink. She was neither plump nor thin as many of this land were, but her figure, even hidden behind the rough clothing, was beautifully female, soft and shapely. I could not imagine how I had not noticed her before that afternoon in Lancelot's room.

Her life was simple enough. She ate, worked, and slept only to rise and repeat it all the next day. She lived with a relative, I learned, an aunt who seemed to bear no love for her and was interested only in how much money she earned.

One stifling afternoon, I lay unmoving and hidden from view behind a particularly thick bush, watching as she finished her washing and set it to dry on the surrounding bushes. The close heat and soothing sound of the water was causing me to drowse -- the girl was doing nothing report worthy anyway, and I was beginning to think that I had imagined what I had seen in the heat of that room, that perhaps the heat had caused me to see things, when she glanced furtively about her. I became instantly alert. She pulled herself to her feet and upon seeing no one, strode into the cool of the forest. I followed a step behind.

Her quick, light footsteps never faltered as she made her way through the thick trees. I was surprised at silently she moved in her long skirt and how she seemed to know exactly where she was going. She moved like a spirit, sliding from shadow to shadow, seeming almost unreal in the dappled light that filtered through the trees. At times I lost her and it was only by the gleam of her golden hair that I was able to find her again.

She had led me quite far from the fort when she turned sharply and disappeared from view. Through several moss draped trees, I caught sight of her just as she shed the last of her clothing and stepped into the cool of a small pond, gently nestled in the heart of the forest. The sun shone down through a break in the trees and lit the water, causing it to sparkle and glow. The girl herself glowed with an unearthly light, like one of Arthur's angels. I felt as an intruder here in this place that was so alive and I was not surprised that I had never found it before. Trapped in some spell, I almost stepped from the shadows. The sound of the girl's sigh of delight stopped me and when I turned my attention back to her, I could see I had not been mistaken in what I had seen on her.

There curling along her shoulder and collar bone were dark blue markings. Others circled her upper arms and calves. A peculiar curving symbol painted the flesh between her hips, heightening her allure. My heart sank and hardened all at once. She was Woad.


	2. Chapter 2

I haven't forgotten you!!

Sorry it has taken my so long to update. I have been distracted with something sparkly (;o)) and between that and Spring Break and sick kids, this was the soonest I could get it up.

Anyway, let me know what you think and enjoy!!

**#2 Caught**

The water was blessedly cool and I soaked in it with relish, feeling the sweat and dirt of the past few days sloughing away in the comforting liquid embrace. The scent of the forest and sounds of the leaves moving in the breeze and birds twittering in the trees healed the bits of my soul that had been thinning in the constant noise of the village. I dove repeatedly to the bottom to scoop the clean sand and scrub my scalp and body clean. When I was finished and gleaming pink, I let the water carry me as I lay on my back and looked up into the sky.

For all the humidity, the sky was a bright, clean blue, it was later in the day and the sun had passed its highest point, but it was still light out. Every once in awhile a bird would wheel over head, floating on the breeze and I felt at peace. It had been a long while since I had felt so like myself. Here, I did not have to hide, here, I was safe.

When the sky began darkening and my stomach began rumbling, I knew it was time to return to the real world. I rolled from my back to my stomach and slipped beneath the water, swimming like a fish. I had learned to swim almost as I had learned to walk and I loved the water. The feeling of weightlessness and the clean use of my muscles strengthened me when I had not been as active as I would have liked. I surfaced when I felt the sand under my body and stood, the water running into my eyes and down my body. Invigorated, I shook myself like a dog and pressed the remaining water from my long hair. When I brought my face up, I froze, my calm mood dissipating like a fog in full sun.

Standing silently, my clothing clenched in his hand, was the scout. His eyes were hard and pitiless as he looked me up and down, taking in all of my markings, the story of who and what I was. He may not have understood fully, but he knew enough to know they meant I was his enemy. He had no sword, which was not unusual, the knights rarely wore their weapons when they were in the village and he must have followed me from there, but I knew he had an assortment of various knives on him and from the cold expression in his eyes, I knew he would not hesitate to use one should I try and run and running was not an option.

He said not one word, but held my shift out to me, his eyes seeming to dare me to take it from his hand. I clenched my jaw and stepped forward, ignoring every instinct I had. He was a predator of the most dangerous kind and I was without even my clothing to protect me. No innocent and young creature could have been more exposed than I. He released my shift when I took it, but offered nothing more and when I had shrugged the thin cloth over my head and tugged it into place; he turned on his heel and stalked toward the village leaving me to follow.

If he thought by keeping my dress and slippers, he could prevent me from running, he was mistaken. My feet were tough and I knew how to run silently even without shoes and I didn't mind being dressed in only my shift. I didn't mind it in the forest, but as we neared the trees edge and came closer to the village, my steps began slowing. The scout's determined steps did not falter. He was apparently unconcerned with the fact that I was half dressed and that because I had been wet when I dressed, my light shift was transparent in quite few places I would rather it weren't.

I stopped stubbornly in the last shade of the forest and would not move. He, not hearing my footsteps, paused and turned his eyes darkening in a way that had me almost taking a step back.

"I'll not walk through the village like this." I said.

He took a menacing step toward me and I barely prevented my sharp in take of breath, "You will or I will drag you by your hair." His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it raised the hairs on my neck. Like a cornered animal, I contemplated making a run for it. He saw it in my eyes, "You will not get far before I bring you down." He stated matter-of-fact and I knew it to be truth.

"At least let me have my dress. You can keep my slippers if it makes you feel better." I snapped. He chuckled humorlessly.

"Scared?" He taunted.

The villagers, though of my blood, would not appreciate me in their midst. The markings clearly visible under my wet shift and on my bare skin set me apart as a rebel and the rebels were none too kind to those who had given up their freedom without a fight. Often, needing food or other necessities we couldn't easily obtain, we stole from them, making their already difficult lives harder. We made roads dangerous to travel and most importantly we made the Roman invaders despise them more. There was little forgiveness of my kind, no matter that we fought for the freedom of our land.

The scout was close to me, closer than I liked but I would not move away. He smelled of horse and forest. He was taller than I had realized and broader through the shoulders and his eyes had flecks of gold in them. But for all my fear, a half-tamed wildness radiated from him and called seductively to the beast in me. We were alike, him and I, more than he knew or wanted to admit and it terrified me.

"I do not fear death." I said in a flat, almost bored tone.

He smirked and suddenly grabbed my arm in an iron grasp. He turned and dragged me along beside him.

I had to half trot to keep up with him, for I knew he would drag me along the ground if I fell. I was the enemy and he was angry. His brutal pace made it impossible for the villagers to see me clearly, which I suppose was a blessing, but they saw me and his rough treatment of me and it caused a stir. The story would be out before long. I hoped I was dead before then.

As we neared the barracks, another knight hailed the scout, but he was ignored and I did not see if he followed or not. My heart was beginning to pick up, where was he taking me? He jerked my arm painfully when I would have balked at entering the doors to the knights' chambers and I knew there would be bruises. An unreasonable fear rose up in me and made me careless and when he slowed to prevent me from breaking away, I took the opportunity to punch him. I put all the effort into it that I could and caught him on the cheekbone just under his temple, which could have been a devastating blow. It must have caught him completely off guard because his grip loosened enough for me to twist free and I would have made it outside before he recovered had the knight who called to him, not been directly behind.

I looked directly into his startled blue eyes before shoving him, but I was turning at the same time and so was off balance. At a word from the scout, the fair knight caught me and pinned my arms to my sides. I struggled fruitlessly for several moments before I became still and stood breathing heavily and shaking like the dry leaves in autumn and about as noisily. The scout, having fully recovered grabbed a hank of my hair and pulled me from the grasp of the fair knight, to his credit, let me go before I lost too much hair.

I blinked back the tears of anger and pain as the scout hissed, "Try that again and I'll make sure there is nothing left of you for Arthur to try." I stared defiantly back at him.

"Tristan?" the fair knight asked. He was confused no doubt at the violence he saw in his fellow.

The scout turned his eyes, "She's Woad."

The fair knight's jaw dropped, "But she's been here for some time."

The scout gave a curt nod and again started up the corridor. I saw nothing more, but the fair knight's heavier footsteps echoed loudly and I sighed inwardly and gave up all hope.

Relief flared brief and bright when we passed the scout's room and did not enter it, but died just as quickly when I recognized the door I was to go through. It was to Arthur's study and once the door had been pushed open, I was shoved so violently that I fell against the edge of a heavy oak table, hitting my elbow hard enough to break the skin and I began bleeding. I righted myself and ignored the pain and trickling blood to turn my eyes on the scout who stood shoulder to shoulder with the fair knight, blocking my only exit.

"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur asked pushing his desk back into place. I turned back to him and stood sullen and silent.

"Show him." I flinched at the harsh and hating voice of the scout and turned my head to him. He had left the side of the fair knight and was now quite close to me.

"I am not going --" That's as far as I got before he hit me. It was a unexpected, savage backhanded slap that nearly took my head off and had me fighting to keep my feet as I hit the corner of the desk again, this time with my hip. My head swam and I raised a hand to my cheek and fought the stars I saw.

"Tristan!"

The shocked exclamation came from behind me. When my ears had stopped ringing and my sight had stopped blurring, I was surprised to be facing a broad back I could not see around and Arthur was standing at my right. The air in the room was tense enough that I could taste it and under the metallic scent of my blood, I could smell anger and surprise.

I peered around my protector, thinking how ironic it was that he had stepped in front of me. I was quite certain that once he knew what I was, he would immediately regret that action. The fair knight had a hand on the scout's arm. I saw the dark haired man shake off the fairer and stand glaring at the man in front of me.

"Perhaps you should know what it is you protect, before you go any further, Lancelot," He snarled. So it was Arthur's first who stood between me and my tormentor. His shoulders tensed though his casual pose did not relax and he turned to eye me quizzically at the same moment Arthur did.

I brought my hand away from my face and looked at the two pairs of eyes waiting expectantly. The scout hissed at me again and as my eyes flicked to where he stood, I saw the fair knight's eyes glittering in rage. I realized then, that he had only restrained the scout out of reflex, not because he was trying to keep the man form murdering me. I glanced back at Arthur, but clad only in my shift with my arms and half my chest exposed, he had seen enough to know what had driven his scout to such violence. I saw the muscle in his jaw ripple ominously while at the same time, Lancelot's dark eyes went black as a demon's. Those dead, flat eyes frightened me more than the thought of death at the hands of the scout ever had and I backed up until I hit the table and almost fell over it.

_Lancelot_

I almost felt sympathetic of the fear that I saw in the eyes of the girl as she backed from me, but her kind had killed too many of my brothers for my compassion to go that far. Tristan had been right, had I known what she was; I would have let him beat her. Her eyes widened as she recognized that we knew what she was and her face lost what little color it had had, making already the florid bruise and smear of blood, transferred from her hand to her cheek, on her fine features all the more shocking, but she stood and straightened her shoulders and raised her chin with a defiance that would have surprised me had I not been close enough to see how she clung to the table to still her violent shaking and keep her on her feet.

"Why are you here?" The girl's head snapped to Arthur. She seemed to understand that the quiet voice was more dangerous than if he had roared. She didn't answer, only stared at him, blue eyes wide yet bold. Her rash defiance demanded retribution and I felt the beast that lived in me raise its head to the extent that I had to clench my fists and grind my jaw in order to control it.

It was my bane. A rage that too often bordered on madness, brought about by my incarceration here, brought by the deaths of so many country men at the hands of these wild people, brought by the injustice of the world and the scent of the girl's deep fear and the sight of her bright blood. You would think that after all this time and practice I would be able to control myself better, but I couldn't. It took several seconds of complete concentration to allow the raging blood to recede and for me to reign in the monster and feel myself. It had always been this way. Tristan was not the only one with demons to hide.

"I asked you a question, girl?" Arthur took a step towards her and she drew back. She turned her head to stare at the wall beside him.

"I was sent to spy." Her voice was a mere thread of sound.

"What have you learned?" Arthur asked.

The girl had nowhere to go and her eyes were beginning to lose their brash expression and turn wild. They were wide and rolling and flickered unceasingly from each of us and the door that Gawain guarded with folded arms, giving voice to her frantic desire. She was like a wild animal trapped with no way out and unless we calmed ourselves; we would force her to attack and she would break herself upon us in her attempt to escape. By the mark on Tristan's face, I could guess she already had once. I doubted he would let her survive a second attempt. He was not a forgiving man.

The girl's head jerked from side to side in answer and her increasing fear was all the answer Arthur needed. He nodded and relaxed enough to take his seat once again. I always wondered how he did that, calmed so quickly and as if he had never been angry. He was as hot-headed as the rest of us, only better able to push it down. His calm manner made it possible for us to relax, though I don't think Gawain was in danger of losing control. He was an animal in battle, but it took a lot to provoke him and I doubted this slender girl -- not quite a woman, with fear filled eyes would be able to do it, perhaps had he met her armed and on the field, but not here. Here he only regarded her stonily.

"Have you a name?"

The girl blinked and it seemed to take her a moment to realize that Arthur's tone was no longer so threatening. She took a breath and let it out slowly, "It's Kellan." She said in shakily.

"You know that is an offense punishable by death?" Arthur's voice had taken on a bored quality.

The girl's chin came up again, though it's trembling ruined the look of defiance this time, "Yes."

"But you learned nothing?"

Her eyes narrowed in bewilderment, "No." she responded somewhat uncertainly.

I sighed to myself and kept myself from shifting my weight in annoyance, I knew where he was going with this. Arthur would some day save the world, or so he liked to believe. Any other commander would have killed the girl instantly, without a second thought, or thrown her to his men to do with as they pleased, but not Arthur. No, he rarely punished people with death and never with torture.

"You have been here for six moon spans, have you not?"

The girl's golden brows lifted in surprise as I am sure did mine – even Tristan appeared mildly surprised. I remembered seeing girl, but she was young yet and I hadn't paid enough attention to know how long she had been here. Arthur knew these things, though. He knew all the movements of the people who came in close contact with him and his men – this included servants.

"About that," she seemed more confident now the greatest danger had passed.

Arthur sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that I knew all to well. "You will never return to the forest again." He declared without looking up.

At his decree, the girl's face again went white and she looked as if she would have preferred him to give an order of execution. I had a feeling we would have all preferred that as well and Arthur did not let me down.

Arthur's hand dropped from his face and he settled back in his chair, examining the girl for a moment, "Since you have learned nothing and will continue to learn nothing, you will stay here." Then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes taking on the look of the commander he was, but surprisingly the girl did not back away as she had from me. "Should you even be seen looking in the direction of the forest, you will be executed on the spot. Should you ever be found with anything that could be considered a weapon, you will be executed on the spot. Should you ever be seen speaking with any of your get, you will be executed on the spot. Do I make myself understood? There are no second chances here."

The girl nodded numbly, the fight leaving her as it slowly sank in that she was to be a prisoner here for the remainder of her days. I think she would have cried had she not been in our presence, the tears were very close to the surface casing her eyes too look like a rain washed lake. Again I almost felt pity for her. At the end of the time of my servitude, I would go home; she would be trapped here forever. But the thought of the death she might have dealt, for all her tender age and sweet features, hardened my heart against her.

Arthur continued, "And you will be placed in the care of one of my men, until I can trust you."

My jaw dropped and I felt the same shocked reaction from Gawain and Tristan. Tristan raised an eyebrow in disgust and pinned Arthur with a hard look as he shook his head from side to side and left the room in one of his melting movements. Arthur thoughtfully pondered Gawain who would be the perfect choice. He was nurturer, easier to get along with than everyone excepting Dag. Gawain had taken Galahad under his wing from the first; caring for the young boy in the same manner he cared for his brother. He looked after Galahad still, always taking the lead, though Gareth had been gone for years now and there seemed no reason. But Arthur must have decided Gawain would be too soft because after a pregnant pause, he turned his eyes to me. I couldn't repress the warning I gave him as I stared back.

"Lancelot will be you keeper."

After a moment of silent argument, I dipped my head in compliance but could not stop the mocking inflection in my voice, "Sir."

"Keep me updated."

I looked over at my commander and friend, then turned my attention to the girl standing in front of me. I took her by the arm, in the same place I noticed Tristan had dragged her about with and pulled her from the room none too gently.

"Come girl. We will get a room ready for you."

Once the door was closed behind us, I heard her take a deep breath and then she wrenched herself away from me with more strength than I would have thought a girl young as she could possess.

"Get your great, dirty hands off of me." Her eyes flashed and she snarled in a way that made me think perhaps Arthur should have been more adamant about Tristan being her keeper. It was going to be a long couple of years.


	3. Chapter 3

**#3 Alike**

Winter was slow in coming that year, slower than any one previous that I could recall. Though autumn had passed dressed in all her radiant glory and warm abundance, my days passed colorless and monotonous. The same patterns occurring each and everyday, relentless in their similitude. I was never alone, never had a chance to breathe or decide my day. I resented those who had forced me into this life, and I resented the men I was forced to serve.

I had never liked my job of washer woman, but now I loathed it. It was a never ending task and I think once the knights found out what I was, they made it so. Each and every day I had a huge mound of clothing to wash and mend, whether it needed it or not. Many times I found the same article of clothing I had washed the previous day splattered in mud and torn, though its owner had worn something different and my hands began to feel the brunt of it.

I had always had strong hands, hands that were calloused by daily use of my chosen weapons. They were hands that I had felt proud of. They had been the hands of a competent warrior. Now my hands betrayed me and with the constant wet and dry and now the increasing cold they had begun to crack and split. I bit down the pain as best I could, appreciating it on some level. It kept me clear headed when everything would have gone hazy and disjointed. I wrapped them as tightly in scraps of linen and bore the agony until one morning I woke and discovered that I could not close my fists without breaking open a scab on each and every joint and knuckle.

As I sat and stared at my mangled hands, I felt for the first time -- shocking I know, the prickling of hot tears behind my eyes. I felt utterly hopeless and completely alone. There was no one here who cared whether I lived or died – no one anywhere who cared. My family had been the ones to send me away and yet I ached for a familiar face and a comforting shoulder to cry on. I longed for someone I could talk to, someone who wanted to know me, but it was not to be and my sorrow increased for it and the knowledge of the difficult day ahead.

I knew I could do no work and if I could do no work, then I had no purpose. If I had no purpose, who was to say Arthur would keep me? Perhaps he would realize what he had not that first day, that I was useless and an utter failure. Tears that had begun as a slow trickle, began to fall in earnest. I know it is rather pathetic to cry over one's hands -- of all things, but I felt so wretched and alone and not even a shadow of the person I had been so proud to be that I could not stop the tears and it wasn't exactly for my hands that I cried. I cried for my unceasing solitude, the revulsion I had for myself, and for the life I could not live. Perhaps it would be better to end it all, but before I could act upon my rash thought, there came a sharp rap on my door, followed by a stern voice.

"Kellan." It was Lancelot and I, typically an early riser, had not yet left my room and he had come to learn the reason why.

"Leave me." I growled loud enough for him to hear through the door.

There was a moment of silence in which I thought he had decided I was not worth the effort, but then the door flew open and he entered without so much as a word, a scowl on his face, his eyes dark, his shoulders tense and ready for a fight. He was always ready for a fight. His annoyance seemed to fade as he saw me sitting on the edge of my narrow bed with tear stained face and bleak eyes, blankets clutched to my bare chest with bloodied hands.

"Are you ill?" he asked sharply, so his annoyance had not faded as much as I had hoped.

I looked away in shame and shook my head. It was bad enough that I was crying over my hands, but to have him see my tears caused a fresh deluge that I had no control over.

"Well then, what is it?" I could tell he was getting more irritated by the moment and when I looked up he folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow.

It could get no worse, so I held out one poor hand, which was now stinging and oozing blood from the wounds that had broken open the moment he had kicked my door in and I had clenched my fists at the sudden surprise. I kept my eye averted, so as not to read the disgust I would see on his face. Lancelot surprised me when he stooped to pick up my discarded shift and tossed it to me. It was followed by none of his usual sarcastic comments and after a thoughtful moment on his part, he left me alone, pulling the door quietly closed behind him.

_Good_, I thought as I screwed my bloodied fists into my eyes and began to sob anew. You can imagine my utter humiliation when strong hands firmly moved my own from my face, my chin was lifted and I found the man kneeling before me gently wiping the tears and blood from my face with a damp cloth. When my face was cleaned he took the shift from the floor where I had once again let it fall and pulled it over my head and deftly slipped my arms through without getting a single drop of blood on in the faded fabric. I saw that he had returned with a basin of warm water, clean rags, and a small jar of pungent salve and now he knelt at my feet, dark eyes full of some emotion I didn't understand and wasn't sure I wanted to.

"How old are you Kellan?"

His softly phrased question caught me off guard and my crying stuttered to a hiccupping stop. I couldn't imagine how that mattered. I was old enough to be married had I a man who wanted me and the inclination and I was old enough to be humiliated with myself at my less than dignified behavior.

"Sixteen in two moons." I answered somewhat suspiciously. I wondered what he hoped to gain with his actions and was put on my guard. But I felt myself relaxing as he began to wash my hands and oh, how wonderful that warm water felt and how soothing his ministrations.

"Hmm," he replied with a knowing nod. "Why were you sent here?"

I blinked in bewilderment, he knew why, "To spy."

He looked up at me, a dark eyebrow quirked, "They send a girl, not much more than a child, to do a man's work? What happened, Kellan? Why are you really here?"

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat suddenly huge and I refused to say anything more. How could he see so much? I had always thought him the least attentive of the knights, yet he had come to the correct conclusion all on his own, but I was not ready to reveal my shame.

His dark eyes searched mine for a moment longer before he bent once again to his task, "You have never been away from home have you." It was a statement and while not exactly true, it was close enough to the truth. I had never been from the forest before and that had been the only home I had ever really known.

I might have jerked from him, bristling at the insinuation in his voice but he held me firmly. "I am not a child." I protested stubbornly, knowing I had never sounded more a child, or appeared more like one in all my years.

He was calm and serious and there was no hint in his smooth voice of the sting it normally carried, "I never said you were."

"The forest was my only home. I was taken from my parents when I was five."

He raised his eyes to mine and I could read his surprise and also an understanding that I was sure he wouldn't want me to recognize. There was pain buried deep within him and it was so tangible in that moment that had he not been holding my hands so tightly, I would have instinctively reached out to comfort him.

"But it was different." I nodded at his statement. It had been different from the reason he and his fellows had been taken, he continued, "It affects us each differently when we come to the realization that home is nothing more than a memory."

As I stared at him, I wondered how that realization had affected him. Was it in his cutting sarcasm and deep cynicism? Was it in the way he took to his bed any willing maid, yet would have none of them? In the only way he knew, was he searching for the same things that I found myself searching for: a familiar face, comfort, peace, and acceptance? In my innocence and selfishness, I had thought the knights always as they were, unchanging and unfeeling, but I saw now, I had been wrong.

I had failed to remember that they had not always been warriors, that they had once been children who had been taken from their families, in some cases at a very young age and been thrust into a world which immediately stole their innocence and changed them for all time. I understood then, that we were more similar than we knew and truth be known, there was very little to separate his people from my own. They were as we might become.

Lancelot was quiet as he finished salving and wrapping my hands and I sat still contemplating what I had just learned. He had shown me a side of him I had never before seen and certainly never expected. He had been gentle throughout the washing and wrapping, almost tender. His voice had been soft and soothing; I caught the scent of sorrow coming from him.

"I'm sorry." I said softly, knowing he would understand what I meant.

He rose and gave an easy shrug, his cocky attitude returning and he smirked at me, "How sorry?"

My jaw dropped and before I could stop myself, I had lashed out and hit him in the arm – hard, as if he had been a friend instead of a jailor. It was worth the flash of pain to see the expression on his face as he rubbed what I knew would turn into a colorful bruise. "Never that sorry." I said.

He shook his head at me and started out of my room, "Get dressed, Kellan." He ordered. "You need to eat. You are entirely too thin for my tastes."

As I dressed, I felt more myself than I had since leaving the forest. I felt strangely hopeful and it warmed me. It made me feel as if I could go on and that perhaps, against all odds, a friendship could be had even as I lived among my enemies. How strange it was that such an uncomfortable and humiliating situation could end with me feeling almost happy. I hummed as I ran a comb through my hair and left to join Lancelot.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the delays, I have been really tired as of late (hopefully, this is precursor to something good :o)) and have been unable to think. Anyway, thank you all for your great reviews (and patience) and I hope you enjoy this new installment!

**#4 Travel**

Only five short days after the incident in my room, I was sitting in a bright patch of sun beside the practice yards, trying to stay warm as I did some of the never-ending mending. Thanks to Lancelot's salve, my hands had healed to the point where to hold a needle was acceptable even if returning to the washing was still out of the question. The sound of the men's' practice was soothing, as were the laughs and taunts. As long as I didn't make eye-contact or allow them to know I was enjoying my time there, I could stay. As soon as anyone of them caught whiff that I was happy, I would be sent off on some pointless chore, though I was quite sure they would think twice before doing that.

Two days earlier, angry that he had nothing clean to wear as I was still unable to wash his clothing and looking to get revenge, Galahad had ordered me to go and find sticks for him to fashion into arrow shafts, a task somewhat difficult without going to a heavily wooded area in which I had been banned.

Unable to find anything that would work for shafts in the village -- I didn't think anyone would be too happy with me if I tore their fruit trees apart, and properly irritated, I promptly hacked up the legs of Galahad's bed with a borrowed hatchet – a thing which Lancelot assured me would be fine, even though it could be considered a weapon -- to proper shaft length and delivered them to the youngest of the Sarmatians. Nothing had been said until I heard an enraged yell come from the direction of Galahad's room late that night after he had returned from his revelries. Lancelot kept him from killing me and laughed the whole time. Turns out, Lancelot had been annoyed as well, as my _quest_ had kept him from wooing a certain blacksmith's wife as he would have liked.

Anyway, as I sat there and fumbled my way through the mending process, Arthur's squire, Jols, appeared with an announcement that the men were needed in the Great Hall. I didn't need Lancelot's pointed stare to inform me that I was to accompany him, even if only to sit in the corridor behind closed doors. Huffing with irritation that my enjoyable day was to come to a premature end, I secured my needle and gathered my things. It seemed I never had more than a moment's peace before Lancelot was off somewhere and I was obliged to follow.

I trailed the men several steps behind as they filed into the dark corridor. As they disappeared one by one through the heavy doors, I made myself comfortable on a bench that sat opposite them. It was too dark to do any work, so I decided to take advantage of the lull and laid my head back against the wall. I had begun to doze when the door creaked open and I opened one eye to see Lancelot smirking down at me in amusement.

"You're just jealous that I am out here sleeping and you have to be in there pretending to like it." I stated as I again closed my eye. A tentative friendship had begun to blossom between us which left me, most likely, too saucy for my own good.

"That may be, but your nap's to be disturbed. Arthur would like a word with you."

His smug words caused me to snap to attention, all thoughts of sleeping immediately gone, "What?"

"Arthur. Wants. To. Speak. With. You." He repeated slowly as if I were daft. I glared at him as I stood and barely repressed the urge to shove him with my shoulder as I walked by him and into the Hall.

It would seem the other men, with the exception of the ever stoic Tristan, were less than pleased at my invitation to join them. Their scowls caused me to pause in the doorway. Lancelot gave me a slight nudge and took his place at the great table that filled the Hall. I had heard tales of this table and its significance and it was not to disappoint, but it was impossible not to notice with sinking heart the gaps that separated the knights from one another. Those gaping spaces and the angry tension which filled the room led me to feel a grief that I had not felt before.

It was all such a waste. Good men, both those who used to occupy these vacant seats and those that used to freely roam the forests had died – killed each other, and for what? There was precious little to show for their sacrifice and I had an idea that it would get worse before it ever got better.

"Kellan?"

I was jerked from my dark thoughts by the quiet voice of Arthur. I swallowed my tears and hoped that none of the men would notice my damp eyes as I squared my shoulders and faced the Roman Commander determined not to fear him. He was of my blood, no matter where he thought his allegiance lay.

"There is rumor that the Roman village of Greystream is to come under attack." He paused as if to waiting for me to give credence to this intelligence. I knew nothing, therefore held silent. I had spoken with no one in more than a season and he knew that. How would I be able to inform him of anything even if I'd had the inclination? Yet it was strange.

The small village of Greystream was far to the north and west, just on the border of the occupied lands. It had once been a completely Roman village but over time the Romans had intermarried with my people and their blood was now so thoroughly mixed that they thought themselves true Britons, though Rome still considered them hers. They were one of the few villages to help the rebels and I highly doubted an attack was to be used to annoy invading Rome. But as I had been gone far too long to know anything of the elders' plans and it had happened before, I kept my misgivings to myself.

He watched me closely and when it was apparent that I was not going to tell him anything, he spoke. "We must go and because of your … unique position, you must accompany us."

I frowned. What was he playing at? Did he expect me to talk my people out of the rumored attack? If he did, he was to be sorely disappointed. They would take one look at me and laugh or they would take one look at me in the company of the men and kill me.

The knights were strangely quiet as they waited for my answer. I glanced to Lancelot, but his face gave nothing away. I sighed inwardly, "I cannot ride." I said at length hoping that would change Arthur's mind.

He nodded in understanding, "Still, we cannot leave you here with any knowledge of where we are going."

I narrowed my eyes. So that was it. I had still not garnered his trust. In all the time that I had been here, hadn't he learned that I had no place to go and even less to tell?

"How shall I accompany you if I have not been on the back of a horse more than five times in my life?"

It was an honest question, though I hadn't intended to sound so sharp. I was not overly fond of horses having reasoned that in my forests I would have little need for more than the most basic of equestrian knowledge. I was also fully aware that Arthur and his knights had practically been born in the saddle and they rode hard and fast. There was little possibility that I could stay seated for a leisurely afternoon ride much less a furious race against time.

Arthur watched me closely, "The men have agreed to give you their aid in this regard."

The silent groans and frustrated disapproval were nearly audible. I was sure the knights had agreed to this in much the same way they had agreed to have fifteen years of their lives stolen.

I smiled, more grimace than anything, "Well then, it looks as if I have no choice."

"No." Arthur agreed and with that final word the meeting concluded. I was the first one out of the Hall, closely followed by Lancelot. As I retrieved my basket and stood, I glanced up at the silent file of men as they passed.

"I am sorry."

There were several hostile glares thrown in my direction as the last of the knights left their commander's presence. I felt my face heat and my blood boil in outrage. I wanted to slap each one of them and yell in their hate-filled faces that this ordeal was not my bloody idea of a good time either. Lancelot only grinned at me as he stood waiting for me to join him.

"Not as sorry as you will be tomorrow night," he quipped with a laugh.

--

The ride was worse than I imagined it would be. The only comfort came with the knowledge that sometime during the night the men had held their own meeting and decided that Lancelot was to tote me the entire way. Small comfort now.

My aching body was shaken almost to pieces by the unfamiliar movements of the animal beneath me and the twin swords that Lancelot wore prevented me from pressing my forehead to his back to offer some respite for my pounding head. I did manage to return the favor, though. At one point he laid a cold, calloused hand atop my own tightly clenched at his waist and told me to loosen my hold so that he might draw proper breath. I think I did as he asked for a moment, until that devil animal of his gave a high spirited jump causing me to gasp and hold on for my life.

I heard Lancelot sigh heavily and glared reproachfully at the sympathetic look Arthur shot his way. As afternoon fell into evening, my weariness overtook me and I gave up trying to save my face from being rubbed raw by the roughness of the sheaths and pressed my cheek against Lancelot's broad back. He felt my strength flagging in the slackening hold of my arms about him and in the end the hand he had used to plead for breath, was the only thing that kept me in place.

When we finally stopped for the night, I sensed Lancelot dismount more than I felt him. I was in a daze and numb to everything but the knowledge that I had to get to solid ground no matter what. Gritting my teeth and drawing upon my last reserves of strength, I threw my leg over and slid to the ground. As my feet hit the hard earth, I buried my face in the saddle I clung to praying that I wouldn't instantly collapse. I took several steps from the object of my misery and sank to my knees. In that moment I knew I never wanted to mount another horse as long as I lived. How would I be able to endure the ride for one more day?

I stayed that way, on my knees, head bowed, for a good long while as the feeling slowly returned to me and my nausea passed. I didn't even notice until later that a cold drenching rain had begun to fall. At last a dim shadow fell over me and I saw two muddy boots stop in front of me.

"Don't," I hissed sharply without looking up to see who it was, "touch me." My very skin throbbed in pain and I couldn't bear the thought of being handled. Instead of two rough hands dragging me to my feet, a cloak fell over me and I heard the splashing footsteps fade into the patter of the rain as their owner retreated.

Now that my eyes were working again, I could see that it had been raining for awhile as I had been finding myself. I raised my face to the cold drops and let it fall soothingly on my scratched cheeks. I heard the men grumbling about the weather and lack of adequate fire wood and forced myself to stand, catching the cloak before it fell to the muddy ground, though it was filthy enough now that that would have hardly mattered.

Just being under the enveloping embrace of the trees again rejuvenated me and went quite far in lessening the aches of my body. The fierce pounding in my head had settled to a dull throb and rain or no rain, I was home. The men glared at me sullenly as I approached and I narrowed my eyes in irritation.

"This is not my fault, no matter how you might wish it." I snapped, folding the sodden cloak that was not mine with abrupt and angry movements, and at least two of the men had the decency to look apologetic. I glanced at the scout, "You can't get a fire going?" I asked scathingly.

Somehow I had thought the man all knowing and infallible. Any small child of my people could start a fire in the rain and with much wetter wood as tinder and I have to admit I was surprised when he gave an indifferent shake of his shaggy, wet head.

"The wood is too wet." Galahad interjected with a frown.

"Oh, quit whining." I retorted coldly, turning on him now. Being among the trees had not gone so far as to make me happy in my current predicament and now that my head had stopped its thunderous pounding, I could feel each and every ache throbbing hotly. The knight opened his mouth, but I spoke before he could. "I may not know how to ride, but you didn't hear one sound from me." I glared at Lancelot, challenging him to disagree.

Smirking he said, "Not a sound, though I am sure my insides will never be the same."

I snorted as slapped the wet and muddy cloak into his arms and limped passed on my way to a small thicket, "Just thought you might enjoy feeling the strength of a real woman, not one of those little, scrawny things you seem so taken with."

My knowledge of their fellow's intimates caused a brief moment of silence followed by raucous guffaws. I ignored the ribbing as I found a hole in the tightly woven mat of twigs and fought my way inside pushing the greedy branches from my clothing and skin.

Here I could find dry tinder and if I was lucky – I moved quickly and grabbed the hindquarters of a rabbit that had entered the brush thinking to wait out the wet. I snapped its neck with one deft movement before it could turn on me or escape. Its companion darted out of reach and I hoped that the knights were not so distracted by their feelings of self-pity that they would let it run unnoticed.

I shoved the dry grasses and sticks to be used for tinder under my shirt and grabbing the rabbit, backed out. Once in the rain again, I tossed dinner at Galahad as I passed and ignoring his faint grimace of disgust, knelt at the foot of a large oak. Here it was still dry enough to light the grasses and yet the tree was sufficiently wet so as not to catch fire itself.

Murmuring a litany to the gods that I would be successful, I fed the growing flame the dry sticks from my shirt and then squeezed excess moisture from others before adding them. It took time and careful concentration, but eventually a reasonably sized fire burned brightly. The rain had softened to a steady drizzle, but did not seem to be letting up any time soon. Hopefully the fire would burn long enough to cook a warm meal.

Pushing back on my heels and feeling quite pleased with myself, I spotted Galahad unmoved from the spot he had been standing in and holding the rabbit I had killed by one hind leg. The other men stood looking at me as if I had grown a second head.

"You want a warm meal?" I asked in exasperation. What was it with them? Did they think I had killed the animal and then poisoned it? I slogged through the deepening mud and took the rabbit from Galahad. He allowed me, but continued watching me warily.

"May I borrow your knife?" I asked, trying to be polite.

He shook his dripping head stubbornly, "No."

Sore, drenched, and in no mood to eat the now sopping wet bread that had been brought along, I reacted to him in anger. As I turned from the youngest knight, I gave the rabbit's head a vicious twist, the force of which tore the fragile hide and allowed me to rip the remainder of the skin and fur from the meat.

"Feed the fire – slowly." I snarled to no one in particular as I dropped the dripping hide at the feet of a disgusted Galahad and turned to make my limping way to a small stream nearby. There I found a rock sharp enough for my purpose and I dressed the carcass as best I could and returned to my little fire which to my surprise the scout had kept alive. As he backed away from the flames at my approach, his golden dark eyes met mine and I had to lower my gaze from the strange intensity I saw burning in their fathomless depths that caused my heart to beat harder.

The comforting scent of cooking meat soon lifted our damp spirits, though the rain continued to fall and it grew steadily colder as night fell. Being early winter the rabbit had been somewhat plump, but there was little meat and certainly not enough to fill us all. There had been enough however that each received a small warm portion of roasted meat to supplement their wet traveling fare and as I doled out the meat; I saw smile or two, though no one said anything until later.

"That was quite the show." Lancelot commented as I curled into the roots of another tree and tried to get some sleep. The rain had turned to snow and the fire, having done its duty, had died out and was nothing now but a freezing pile of wet ash and blackened sticks.

"What was?" I asked through a jaw-cracking yawn. It had been a long day and between the lightly falling snow, my damp dress, and aching body, the night would prove to be just as long and I was thoroughly exhausted.

"The way you ripped that rabbit apart."

I opened my eyes and looked in his direction. There was little light and in his dark clothing, he was near impossible to see. "You ate it happily enough." I pointed out with a little frown. "You've been in battle. I never would have thought your stomach was so easily turned at the sight of blood."

Lancelot crouched near enough for me to clearly see his face. As usual he was smirking at me, "It's not everyday you see a woman rip the head and hide from an animal and gut it with a rock." A dark brow rose almost in reprimand, "It's something we expect from Tristan, not you."

I sat up until I was close enough to see the moisture dripping from his hair and onto his face, "When I was eight, I was blindfolded and taken out into the forest. For days we traveled and I had no idea as to where I was. Finally, we stopped and I was allowed to remove my blindfold. When I did, I found myself alone in a clearing with nothing but my little tinder pouch. I did what I had to in order to survive and make my way back to the training camp."

His expression changed subtly, "And the point of that exercise was?"

I stared at him for a long moment, then sat back against the tree before deliberately turning my back on him and his sarcasm and closing my eyes. He could freeze to death tonight and I would gladly dance on his grave in the morning. I heard his low chuckle and slight scufflings as he settled himself near me and tried to sleep.

_Lancelot_

I nudged Kellan carefully with my foot and sincerely hoped the girl was in a better humor this morning than she had been the night before. At my last comments, she had very much looked as though nothing would make her happier than seeing my immediate demise and not for the last time did I think that she would have been better off with Tristan as her guardian.

She groaned at my second attempt and blinked blearily up at me. Her eyes had dark smudges under them and she moved as stiffly as an old woman might, but she managed a warm smile as I handed her a bit of bread.

"Sleep well?" I asked, crouching beside her.

She snorted as she shook the light coating of snow from her hair and blanket, "If that's what you want to call it. I cannot imagine how you can ride as you do. I would rather have both legs cut off and both arms broken than do that again." She grimaced and she moved, "I am so stiff, I can hardly move."

I cocked my head, "Better move quickly if you want to get that done. Arthur gave the order to move out after we have finished and as you can see, we are finished."

Kellan looked around for the first time and groaned when she saw the men watching her and waiting impatiently. She handed her meal back to me and quickly rolled her blanket. I smiled as she stood with squared shoulders and raised chin and marched towards Dan, my stallion. After securing her bedding, she pulled herself rather gracelessly into the saddle and sat staring at me as she carefully ignored the others. I shook my head and stood tossing her bread to the side. I had not missed the ugly green her skin had been when we stopped yesterday and knew she would be unable to hold it down as we traveled. I was glad she had been able to keep her dinner down the night before.

I pulled myself up behind her, which happened to be the correct thing because she was limp and I was completely supporting her slight weight by the time we reached our night's camp. She would have not been able to stay on Dan had I sat her behind me, but once gain her fortitude surprised me and she murmured not one word of complaint.

Though many of the others regarded her with barely veiled contempt, I admired her for her endurance and courage. She had come along way from home with men who could care less if she were dead, and would probably like her better in that form, and she was proving her worth.

I had wondered again as she clung to my arms around her slender waist as we rode, just why her people had forced her to the fort. What had such a strong, young woman done to deserve such a harsh punishment such as banishment? Any father of my people would have been proud to have a daughter such as Kellan. I could not understand how she could be of such little value to those who were supposed to care for her.

I had to help her from Dan's tall back, lifting her enough that she could get a leg over and steadying her when she would have fallen after sliding to the ground. She said nothing, only smiled her thanks with pale lips and limped away to sit under a tree. I watched for a time as she pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in them and though I could hear nothing, I would have sworn she was crying. Kellan didn't move the rest of the long night, not to eat, not to near the warmth of the fire, or to even retrieve her blanket. I covered her sometime later and left her in peace.

"Kell."

She looked up at my first call the next morning and pushed herself to her feet. I could see her jaw clench and heard the uncomfortable sound of her teeth grinding together when she moved. She said nothing as she trailed me to Dan. I had to give her a boost today to get her on the horse and when she was seated I received no indication of gratitude only a bone deep exhaustion.

It was a frigid day and Kellan shivered beneath her thick cloak and pressed her back tightly to me so that she could share in my body heat. She was close, but it was not uncomfortable and I appreciated the warmth of her small body as well.

"Why were you sent from your home, Kellan?" I asked in her ear as we rode. I felt her body tense at my question and she turned her head so that I could see one deep blue eye before a wild lock of hair hid it from me and she turned forward again.

"I wouldn't fight." She said quietly after a long pause.

"Would not or could not?" I asked in curiosity and I saw several of my brothers glance over. We were holding the horses at a walk in order to rest them and so not moving quickly enough for our pace to interfere with conversation.

Kellan knew the men were listening and her answer was short and curt, "Wouldn't."

"That's a lie." Tristan's low voice startled me and I looked back to see him riding just behind us. "You were there when we lost Erik." His voice was calm and held no audible accusations, yet we all felt his anger.

I tried not to show my surprise at his words. Having fought so many battles and lost far too many brothers, I only remembered the battles in which we lost someone, but I couldn't recall having seen Kellan's face prior to Tristan tossing her into Arthur's study. An angry murmuring swirled about Kellan and I like a killing wind and we both felt the tension rise.

She sighed heavily and looked down, "I am sorry for that and I hope that I was not the one who took his life." Her words surprised me as much as her remorseful tone. I did not think one as young and soft as Kellan would be capable of taking the life a much larger and stronger man.

"It was my first and last battle." She explained softly.

"Why?" Galahad growled and the men craned to hear her answer. Even Arthur was stiffly poised in anticipation. When Kellan held silent and refused to answer, Bors leaned forward in his saddle.

"It turn you coward?" He asked roughly. "Find you had no stomach for the killing and no taste for the blood?" His tone turned mocking and several of the men chuckled humorlessly and smiled at Kellan, their lips pulled away from their teeth in wolfish grins.

Kellan turned her head slowly and when she did and I was able to see one eye, something in it chilled my blood. Instead of fear or embarrassment, her deep eyes glowed with excitement and her cheeks flushed pink with the emotion. She looked anything but a coward. Only Tristan appeared unsurprised at her transformation. Galahad, many feet away on his dappled gelding, actually drew back at the sight of those cold, calculating eyes.

"Quite the opposite, Sarmatian," she fairly purred as she spoke. "My mouth waters for it even now. My hands ache for the cold touch of a blade in them, for the soft give as it slides through tender flesh. My heart races to see the shadow of death creeping over my victims, stilling their hearts and glazing their eyes like a dark god. My eyes see only red and I embrace the dark that rises within me."

She was trembling and her breath came in hard gasps. She shook her head and when she looked up again, the glow and excitement had faded leaving her pale and tired looking. She smiled sadly, "So you see why I won't. I know nothing but the thrill of the kill, the desire to see my enemies as so much slaughtered meat." Her hands clenched convulsively, "Problem is, in the throes of my bloodlust, I see only enemies. I know no one. No one," her voice was harsh and strident in her conviction, "friend or family is safe. I could not fight after learning that."

Her words brought a contemplative silence from my brothers, a thing which happens only rarely. They spoke not at all, not even Bors and by the time we had reached the tiny village of Greystream, Kellan had fallen asleep her head tucked under my chin, her hair tickling my neck, her lithe body relaxed for the first time since we had left the fort and it was just as well. I didn't think she would appreciate the pitying glances my brothers were throwing her way.


End file.
